that night
by omfg it's sophie
Summary: the night that james and lily died, from the point of view of all four marauders. t for language. smallest of small DH spoiler.


**A/N **

**Warnings: language, POA spoilers, spoilers for anything, really, concerning the night Lily and James died. DH spoilers in the author note, but not huge ones.**

**Setting: The night the Potters died, from the Marauders' points of view. **

**Forget DH, yeah? Ha ha. I wrote the first bit (Sirius and James' bits, to be honest) _before_ DH and I, quite frankly, cannot be arsed to re-write it. I think it's just James' bit which is wildly lacking in details on how he died. Sorry, no bubbles. And I was _hugely_ disappointed in how James just stood there and everyone says he died so bravely. So my way's better, you know it is. **

**(That is no reason, duh, to think that I think I'm above JKR. I don't think I am, I fully understand that it's her story, they're her characters, etc, etc.)**

**I love Peter you fuckers. **

**James**

The first thing that really strikes me as odd, the point where I start to understand something is wrong is when the neighbor's dog won't settle down. If, of course, by the neighbor, you mean the house across a few fields from us. It usually stops barking around seven but tonight it's gone on long past nine o' clock. It has a sense of urgency in its bark, a panic that I've never heard before and it just won't shut up. It's strange because, well, usually it stops barking once it's let in or, at least, its bark gets muffled by closed doors. Now, though, it echoes clearly across the fields to our house. There are no closed doors between it. It's as if, maybe, there's no one to let it in. You never know these days.

Instead of ringing them up with the Muggle phone, I lower my head to the baby in my arms because I'm probably being paranoid; there's probably nothing wrong. My eyes are rimmed with red because Harry hasn't been easy to sleep the past week, he probably has a cold, and only Sirius can put him down. I'll be damned if Sirius stays the night here with his comments in the morning at the slightest squeak of the floorboards even if we're just going to the toilet. My hair's tousled, even though it's a lot shorter now than it was at Hogwarts, and it reminds me of the first few months of having Harry when he would never sleep but scream all night and beat his fists.

"Daddy'd like to sleep now," I murmur, bouncing my voice to a lullaby although I'm pretty sure these aren't the lyrics. "Go to bed, la la, sleep Harry, Daddy'd like to sleep. I'm pretty sure Mummy would as well, la la."

As if calling her cue on a West End stage, Lily walks into the room, rubbing her hand through her hair.

"Is he dropping off at all?" she says quietly and I smile at her because we're able to have this conversation.

"He's stopped crying," I say, just as quietly. I hand Harry to her without thinking about it, it's all so routine now. She takes him, bounces him gently over her shoulder and singing lightly a lullaby which I'm certain has the right words to it. I'm absolutely hopeless at lullabies.

"I'll go try and lay him down," Lily says, not looking up from our son, her eyes soft with fondness. "You come up soon, alright?" I give her a lopsided grin and flick my wand to heat a glass of water before putting a tea bag in it.

"In a minute."

Once the slight creak of the stairs has stopped I realize, suddenly, how quiet it is. The dog's stopped barking at last. I glance out over the fields, getting a glimpse of the large farm house and run my eyes over what I can see of it. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, not really. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then take a sip of my tea, not bothering to take out the tea bag nor to put in sugar or milk. The taste hits me, strong and bitter, but I like it like that.

But then--

As I'm looking out the kitchen window, something moving in our front lawn catches my eye. You can only see a small patch of the lawn from this window and it's a shadow that passes over it, tall and sleek.

Immediately I know something is wrong.

I drop the tea in the sink and manage to get to the door, hopping over Harry's toys. There's a hooded figure in the drive, in our garden.

There are certain things you know from silhouettes. You know the structure of a person, the posture. You know how they hold themselves and how they do when they think no one is watching. You can read a silhouette more than you can read a person. I know this isn't a friendly chap from work dropping in to say hallo at nearly ten at night. I know that it isn't anybody who isn't really dropping in for a chat. My heart stops and my blood goes cold because, although I don't want it to be, I know it is.

"Lily," I yell, and I hear a shout from Harry, who I suppose was just dropping off to sleep. My voice is urgent and she knows something is wrong, she runs to the stairs. "Take Harry and go! It's him!" I whip around, giving Lily one look which says _I love you_, _I need you_ and _Go_ all in one and she turns around and I know that it isn't because I said so, but it's because of Harry. "Go! Run! I'll hold him off-"

Lily breaks from the nursery again, doors slamming upstairs.

"_James_," she says loudly and Harry's crying because he doesn't understand, he can hear the panic and he knows what it means but he doesn't understand. Lily's rocking him and staring at me. "James, no, Peter-"

"_Go!_"

"I love you," she says, and then disappears into the nursery again. I stare at where she was a moment ago, beg that she's apparated, beg that she and Harry are anywhere from here.

I don't know what to do; what can I do? The most evil wizard is about to break through my front door. I'm about as useful sitting down drinking my tea as I am standing up in front of the door, wand raised high, but I do the latter.

"Potter."

The voice runs through me, as cold as ice, and I glare at him, eyes burning. This is the third time I've seen him, the fourth time that I've been near him, but never this close. And never have I felt such hatred.

"Get the fuck away," I snap, raising my wand higher. "Get the fuck away from my family, dammit!"

"And here I was," he says, voice cool as ever, "willing to make you a deal. A small swap for your son."

_Peter_, I think desperately, _how could you?_

I raise my wand, open my mouth, willing to say whatever spell comes upon it first, whichever curse, but I'm already off of my feet, lying on my side and feeling bruises coming up.

"You son of a bitch," I say quietly. "What do you want with them, hey? Leave them alone." I flick my wand, a jet of boiling heat being sent towards him, but he deflects it. I try something else and he deflects that as well. Our wands move like knives through the air and he's doing it lazily, uncaring. He's ruining a family life, he's ruining _my_ family and he doesn't care. I'm breaking out in a sweat, I can't think straight and I have never been so frightened in my life.

I look up, stopping the continuous battle of spells and stare into the eyes of him. I can barely see them, but I search them out, under the hood, and I stare at him, meet his eyes. I realize he's going to kill me. He's going to kill me, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it, and that's that. Some people, in this situation, would beg and say they would do anything to keep their life. Some people would stop all together and wait for it to happen.

I, however, lift up my wand and yell another curse, fiercely picturing my family and my friends and I watch him smile, slowly, and flick his wand once more.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

I stare him in the eye, open my mouth again, desperate to hurt him, to _kill_ him, before it all goes black.

**Sirius**

You know what the funny thing is? People always say they can tell when they're going to have a bad day. They say they can predict in advance that things are going to mess up for them. I think that, really, I of all people should know that feeling. But I don't, really, which is why I think it's a load of bullshit. I grew up in a family who I thought was perfect but then, later, I learned better. I knew that every time I went home, just because I was sorted into Gryffindor, I'd be knocked about as a joke at the dinner table. I've had enough bad days there and yet I never understand what people say when they say they can feel a bad day coming.

Today is no different. I wake up, I eat breakfast, I go to the corner shop to get some spaghetti and I come home. I do some work and I watch some television. Then, somewhere along the line, I decide to check on Peter. Never do I think that he'll not be there, because he always is. Never do I think that it'll all fall to pieces. Never do I have a gut feeling about what's going to happen next. Like I said, it's a load of complete bullshit.

But as soon as I knock on the door, I know something is wrong. For one, the little number '6' on the door has swung around on a loose screw so it looks like '9', which I know Peter never lets happen, because he'll always fix it before he goes out. It also only does that if the door's been closed with any force but, again, he usually fixes it. It isn't a gut feeling. It's picking up something others wouldn't be able to because they don't know him like I do.

"Pete," I say, twisting the number round and knocking on the door. "Oi, mate, open up."

He doesn't.

I stare at the door and it hits me. It's just a damn number that's fallen the wrong way round, but I know that it must be more. Peter knows he can't leave because if he does then he'll have a chance of getting caught. And if he's caught, then he'll have a chance of telling James and Lily's address.

My heart skips a beat because, although I don't have a gut feeling about it, I know that something is wrong. I push the door open, it's not locked, oh Merlin, and step inside. There's no sign of a struggle, of anything, and I turn around and run, leaving the door to Peter's flat wide open and the number on it still the wrong way round.

It's about nine thirty. I don't need to check my watch, I just know it is, because it was about nine o' clock when I started walking to Peter's flat. I stop at the entrance to the block of flats and look around. Nobody's there and I can't see any surveillance cameras and I can't wait because, although it may just be my mind, it may also not be. I can't believe Peter would ever betray us but I also can't believe he would leave of his own accord in the middle of the night.

Instead of apparating, I sprint outside, grab my bike and take off to an alleyway a few meters from the doorway. Then, when I'm out of sight, I lean foreword and urge the bike into the air, hitting the invisibility button hard and fly, always slick against the cool neck of the motorbike, to the barrier where the Fidelius Charm ends. I stand there for a minute, staring faintly at the house in front of me. The house shouldn't be there. The house shouldn't _be there_, I shouldn't be able to see it, not yet. I apparated here out of habit but now, I realize, I could have apparated right into the house if I wanted. The spell was broken somehow.

_The spell was broken somehow._

"No," I say hoarsely, and then I sprint to the house, moving wildly, not caring about anything I just _need to get to that house_.

"James!" I roar, throwing the front door open. "James, for God's sake!"

I rip through the house, overturning couches before I see him and I stop and beam.

"Thank God," I say, voice filtered with relief and I go over before I realize that James shouldn't be lying on the floor, that my relief to see him made me think, made me assume he's alive. But--

Oh, Merlin.

I drop to my knees, staring straight ahead. I never was able to even think that James could be dead because I cannot imagine myself living without him but here he is, oh my God.

It's then I realize that I'm not crying. James is dead and I cannot cry. I cried when his parents died, I nearly fell apart when his parents died because they were _my parents_ as well, but I am not crying and James is dead. Well, of course I'm not crying because he can't be dead, he can't be dead. I lower my eyes and look at him, and then I realize he is dead. I knew on some level before, but I didn't _want _to and now, now he's dead.

I turn around from him, swiveling on my knees and throw up everything I've eaten today and then continue to dry heave, my palms flat on the floor. Peter did this. Oh, Merlin, Peter actually did it. James is _dead_.

Then I realize that I am not crying, because I am sobbing. I have my hands and knees on the floor and I cannot control myself, sobs wracking my body. I'm shaking so much that I can't sit up again, let alone stand.

"Sirius?"

I turn around sharply, still shaking to see Hagrid in front of me. He looks stricken, and I can tell from his voice he's been here longer than me. I lower my eyes and spot, in his arms, Harry.

"You got him," I say quietly. "What about Lily?" I choke on the name, and Hagrid lowers his head. I lift my hands, entwine them in my hair and tug, as if trying to pull my scalp off. "Oh, Merlin," I say quietly, although it's obscured by my shaking jaw and I can't talk properly. "Oh, Jesus effing-" I stand up and stumble towards Hagrid, not looking at James' body.

"Give him to me, Hagrid. I'm his godfather," I say, eyes fixed on Harry, who's curled a hand around Hagrid's massive finger. He has no idea, I realize. He's only a kid, not even that, and his parents are dead. He has no idea who they are, who they were, he'll never know.

I turn again, putting my hands on my knees and feel as if I'm going to be sick again, but I'm not. There's a large hand on my back and I turn around, look at Hagrid, my eyes wide.

"He couldn't have done it, he couldn't have," I mutter, eyes fixed on Harry now. I can feel myself shaking again, and it feels like I'm shivering. Hagrid puts a massive arm around me and brings me close to him, hugging my roughly and I fall apart again, sobbing into his giant coat.

"I need Harry, Hagrid," I say. _He's all I have left of them_, I add silently. "I'm his godfather, dammit, I need him." Hagrid shakes his head, takes a step back and I feel too tired to argue. "Please," I beg, but Hagrid looks down again.

"Dumbledore's orders," he says gruffly. "He wants Harry ter his aunt an' uncle's house, he does." Something lights up inside me and I take a step foreword.

"_No_," I say firmly. "You didn't hear her, you didn't hear her talk about them, he can't go there." I chew on my lip, reaching out for Harry, but Hagrid shakes his head again, eyes gentle with sympathy. I realize I don't stand a chance, I'll never get him. "Take my bike," I say instead, turning and looking around. Where would Peter be? Revenge beats hot inside me and I throw Hagrid the keys to my bike which I looked after like a child, before turning with one last look at Harry to apparate.

Because I know where he is.

"Peter," I yell, when I open my eyes to see the road with a few houses lining it. "Peter, how could you!"

People around me freeze, Muggles, and I stare around through them, before spotting him. I have no idea how I knew he would be here and I think maybe I ought to start believing in gut feelings. Peter turns and looks at me and I recognize that look, the one before he changes. If he does, I'll never find him.

"Don't you _dare_," I say quietly and, surprisingly, my voice stops him. Peter stares at me and I stop. We're a few meters away from each other, just staring. "Get away," I say to the Muggles around me. "Clear off." They don't, though, and I panic.

"How could you, Sirius?" Peter yells suddenly. I meet his eyes, narrow my own. "How could you? James and Lily! You betrayed them!" I bring out my wand, raise it high and there's a curse on my lips before there's a massive _bang_ and I find myself flying backwards, smacking my head against the hard gravel. For a moment I see stars and then everything goes black and I pass out.

**Peter**

I cannot believe it. I don't even know how it got this far – in the beginning, it was just _money_. I was running low, I had been threatened I'd be kicked out of my flat and I was desperate. I know it wasn't good, but it was just delivering things. Surely that can't be that terrible, can it?

It turned out to be, however. And now I can't believe it. I couldn't take it, I couldn't take any of it anymore. He had said that, if I came back by tonight, then everything would be okay. That he wouldn't hurt James or Lily, just Harry. And, well, I know it's not nice, but Harry's just a baby, right? They've barely had him a year. I know in the beginning everyone will miss him, but we can get over all that, can't we? They can have more children!

Or, well, they could have. It didn't work like that. I had told him where they were, because he said I had until tonight, and I had made up my mind. He said he'd hurt them otherwise. And I'd believed him, I am so _stupid_. But I was outside the house, I was a rat, because I wanted to make sure. No one came out, though, so I assumed that he had got what he wanted and left. After all, Lord Voldemort doesn't need to use the front door, does he? I had gone inside, just to make sure, still as a rat so James or Lily wouldn't see me. And then I had seen _him_ on the floor, James and...

I sprint now through the street, my eyes flicking back and forth. I know I can't hide from him, because he'll get me too. I don't know what to do. If I go back to him... I'll be helping the man, the _thing_ who killed my best friends. And yet... if I hide from him, what will happen? What good will come from hiding from him?

_What good will come from going back to him?_ I find myself thinking, but I shove that thought to the side. What do I _do_?

I sit down on the pavement, bring my knees up to my chest and pull my head foreword, my hands working at the back of my neck.

"Did you _hear?_"

I stiffen, sure the woman passing me will point me out and scream at me for being a traitor. She doesn't though, just continues her gossip with her friend.

"The Potters? _Dead_? How?"

"It was _Him_, Gertrude! You-Know-Who in person! And they say that he died there, he lost all his powers and he just _died_. Dumbledore, of course, says he isn't dead, that he just has been, I dunno, ghost-i-fied, but the point is he's _gone_." There's a pause where both Gertrude and I think this over. It takes a moment for me to realise what she's saying before I jump up and grab the woman on the shoulder. She turns around, certain she's being mugged and holds out her bag.

"Er, no thanks," I say vaguely. "No, no, the Potters?"

"Oh, yes." The woman beams at me, stuffs her bag under her arm again and hails be foreword. I hesitate then take a step in her direction. "Well, I heard it from old Helga Shaper, who heard it from _her_ dear friend, Margaret Howes, did you hear about her knee, bless her, three children as well, who got it from old Aberforth himself, who, of course, heard it from his brother, Dumbledore, that You-Know-Who is _gone_."

I feel joy souring up, so strong I nearly choke on it. He's _gone_?

"Dead?" I manage to ask.

"Well, Helga says that Maggie says that Aberforth told her that Dumbledore isn't too sure on that," the woman says. She's really going now, I notice, and I wonder whether she pauses for breath or not. "She says that he's pretty certain he's still out there somewhere, but that really isn't to worry about, is it, I mean, if he's gone, we needn't worry if his left toenail's floating about-"

"Sorry, er, the Potters. What happened with them?" The woman grins at me, really getting into the gossip.

"Dead. All of them. Except little Harry. I heard that the chappie, what's his name, he used to go to that school." She frowns.

"James," I find myself saying, voice strangled.

"That's the one. He stood up to him, I heard. Dumbledore said. Well, at least, Fiona says that Dumbledore says, whether it's true or not is another story, you never know how much you can trust that Fiona Walsh." I blink. "Well, yes. James Potter, he and his wife, what was her name? Layla? Anyway, she got it, too, but it didn't work for the laddie. I'm not sure what happened to him, but he's still around with us today."

I can't breathe. I really can't. I knew before that something had happened but some part of me had been hoping against hope that it wasn't true, that there had been some sort of mistake...

"Anyway, Margaret Howes' knee, did you hear about there, had it taken out from right under her by her laddie's broom-"

"Sorry," I murmur, and I sprint down the road of Diagon Alley. If he's gone, then that means I needn't go back, doesn't it? If he's gone, then that means that I'm safe, that it doesn't _matter_ anymore. I don't know what to think, no matter what I do I feel guilty.

I'm running along a Muggle road when I hear a crack. Sirius is in front of me all of a sudden, he's shouting out at the Muggles to go, to stop watching, but they stay. I stare at him and then wonder whether I should turn or not, he's going to _kill me_. He shouts at me, though, and I freeze.

Then it hits me.

_He's pretty certain he's still out there somewhere..._

He's still out there. He could protect me, from Sirius, from everyone, the whole Wizarding world. I'm not safe anywhere, I can't stay here because Sirius will tell them all and they'll _know_. Except they all think Sirius was the Secret Keeper... my mind's racing and yet I feel as if I don't think when I shout out to the street.

"How could you, Sirius? How could you? Lily and James! You betrayed them!"

_I'm sorry_.

I see the stricken look on his face, the mixture of horror and rage and I close my eyes, mutter something, hear a bang and feel a pain in my hand and turn.

_I'm so, so sorry. _

What have I done? I can't think, can't feel because if I do it hurts to much. I leave the scene of destruction behind me and go on to meet so many more, self hatred pulsing through my veins.

**Remus**

It isn't late, but, for some reason, I am shattered. I can barely keep my eyes open and when I do they feel swollen and ache if I turn my head and cause the slightest of winds to meet them. And yet, no matter how hard I try (and I have tried, I promise you), I simply cannot get to sleep. I retired to my bed at around seven, giving in to the sudden wave of tiredness which came over me, but no matter how long I lay there, eyes closed, attempting to convince my body to fall asleep, it didn't seem to work.

_Why_, I thought angrily, _does my body insist on being exhausted, and then when I try to sleep refuse to do so? _

And so I took to sitting at my kitchen table, staring moodily at a cup of tea which is steadily getting colder. Caffine, I had thought, would surely relieve my eyes of any weight they're carrying. Mentally, I was exhausted, obviously. Everybody was these days. But it was the sort of exhausted when you really didn't think that anything you did made a difference. Despite this, I was wide awake in my mental state. Bring on the metaphorical jousters and badminton racquets, my mental state could take it. Physically, however, I seemed to be on death's door. However, I was wrong and the tea did absolutely nothing in the first cup, nor the second cup and now, as I glare at the third cup as if it's _its_ fault that my body seems to be disagreeing with me, I give up with the idea of caffine.

I sigh, drop my eyes from the cup of tea and push myself up from the table. It's not even as if I didn't have any sleep the previous night. I can't think what's bring this on and, as is normal when I can't think of a logical reason behind something, I find myself in a, well, let's just say a bad mood.

Recently, though, I admit I've been quite busy. I've been juggling the Order, my pitiful pittance-paying job and the stress of the possibility of losing my friends – any of them, to tell you the truth. On top of that, I've been avoiding my landlord, who, by now, wants my head on a plate because I haven't paid my rent yet, and I've had to pull enough money out of that which I set aside for basic things like food and toilet paper to try and get some to keep my landlord off of my back for a while. That was a no-go, though, and I'm, to be completely honest, financially buggered. It's enough to give someone not used to it a bloody heart attack. Lucky I'm used to it, eh?

And then there was the fact that I haven't been to see James of Lily since they'd gone into hiding. I'd been meaning to, I really had, but I just couldn't find the time. It's only been a week and I had a free day – the shock of it nearly killed me – coming up next week, but as soon as I planned to go see them something else sprung up. If it weren't for Sirius still dropping in to make sure I'm still eating, I think I may die.

It's so frustrating, the fact that our friendship's been strained because of this war. _If_ this war weren't to happen, mind, where would I be? Probably in a similar situation, but even so, I'd be a lot more free to do other things. Come to think of it, actually, I don't think that I've seen anybody this past week besides the people at work and the landlord to my flat, who had cornered me at the beginning of the week to have a good go at me about the money, which I promised him – I realise this with a jolt – I'd have today.

At least things can't get much worse, then, if you want to be ridiculously optimistic about it. Even so, I think that's about the most that even the strongest of optimists could say about it.

There's a knock at my door and my head snaps up. I frown at it. The knock is much too polite to be my landlord. Even if he was going to go for another angle in getting his money – he's convinced I'm holding it back from him out of pure stinginess – I don't believe he has the self-control to do so. He's a big, giant of a man with a beard that reaches his elbows and an 'If-I-had-my-way-murder-would-be-legal' look always on his face. Even when he's trying to be nice – something I've seen on one occasion, he still moves with the grace of an angry rhinoceros. So, thinking I'm safe, and even if I'm not, realising I'll have to deal with him sometime, I stand up and open the door.

_Why on earth is Dumbledore here?_ is my first thought, followed shortly by _Oh, sweet Merlin, my flat is a mess._ I hesitate, hand still on the door, trying to block out as much of the bare, and yet still ridiculously pig-sty-resembling as I can. I wonder vaguely whether I can slam the door shut without him realising I'd ever opened it, then decide against it.

"Er, Professor. Would you like to come in?"

And then I catch the look on his face. I nearly pass out and I don't even know what's happened yet – the thing is, though, I know something has happened. It's hard to misplace a look like that and I don't. I may be living at the bottom of society, buggered for money with a disgusting flat and a pitiful job, but I'm not dim. Even somebody dim could place that look.

He steps in after me, says absolutely nothing on the state of my flat, doesn't inquire to how I am, but asks me to sit down. In my own flat. I stare at him stupidly.

"Remus," he says gently, and I find my legs bending beneath me like an obedient dog. I'm not entirely sure if there's even a chair behind me. I think there may be. I feel the firm wood under me and count myself lucky. Dumbledore takes off his hat.

He _took off his hat_.

Jesus bloody fuck.

I don't say 'what happened' because I can't. It will just confirm that something's happened and I'm begging any God that's out there to turn a kind eye on me and make Dumbledore do the entire 'surprise- it's not bad news, I was fooling you, the war's over!' type of thing. My breathing quickens and I don't place a bet on that happening.

"I'm afraid I've some bad news, Remus," he says. I have never heard anybody's voice so quiet. "I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll do it as bluntly as I can." I find myself nodding although I'm not aware of asking my neck and head to do so. However, I know that Dumbledore's right – I don't want whatever news he has to be cushioned by ridiculous, false assurances that everything will be okay. I know my face is blank enough that it may even look as if I'm not paying the slightest attention to what he's saying, but Dumbledore sees through this, sees my worry, and continues.

"Earlier tonight Lord Voldemort entered Godric's Hollow. We're assuming, for reasons I'll tell you later, that Sirius told him the Potter's whereabouts of his own free will." He pauses, eyes fixed on me, but I know that it's not the end of the news. I know these things – I've heard enough bad news in my life, had enough disappointments to know better. I don't let my face move an inch, know that, no matter what happened, James, Lily and Harry didn't stand a chance. "Harry, however, survived. I have my theories, but none of them are relevant now." The shock must have shown on my face, I meet Dumbledore's eyes.

"Harry survived," I repeat dully. "But James and Lily didn't." He nods kindly. I feel my world fall apart, but push the destruction away to wait for the rest of what he has to say. I only realise now that the last two sentences I said are the hardest I've ever said and that my voice shook so bad that I'm surprised Dumbledore understood me.

"I'm so sorry, Remus," he says quietly. "Peter heard somehow of what happened, he went to find Sirius. Sirius blew up the street, Peter stood no chance. Twelve Muggles also died."

There's an intake of breath and hitched breathing and for a moment I wonder who else is in the room, before I realise that it's me. My breathing has quickened, my palms are slick with sweat, gripping my trouser legs tight enough to leave creases. I nod, blinking rapidly.

"Sirius is in Azkaban."

"Is that it?" I say. My voice is strained. Dumbledore bows his head. I manage a few more seconds of keeping myself composed and keeping my emotions masked before I lose it. I don't know how I got to this position, but my head is in my hands, my fingers gripping my hair so tight I'm frightened that it'll pull out, and still it doesn't hurt more than what Dumbledore just told me.

_Sirius betrayed us. _

Oh my God.

For some reason, this part of what Dumbledore said hurts me more than the fact that James, Peter and Lily are dead, that Harry's an orphan, that twelve Muggles are dead and that I'm still alive. It makes me shake violently with grief. He's _betrayed_ us. James and Lily and Peter are dead _because _of Sirius and that's what hits me the most.

My face feels wet, but I don't feel like I'm crying. My cheeks are slick with tears and when I open my mouth everything tastes salty. I don't throw up or heave at all, I don't make awkward sobbing noises, but my whole body shakes. I rub the heel of my palm furiously against my cheeks.

"Azkaban," I find myself saying. "I don't- I hope he – _fuck_." The heel of both my palms are now pressed against my eyes. "I want to see him." _I want to kill him._

"No." Dumbledore sounds sure, his voice is firm and I look up and glare at him. For a moment I'm angry at him for not protecting them better, but that passes.

"I will."

"No," he repeats. My breathing's heavy because it's fighting against sobs.

"Your emotions are clouding your thoughts, Remus," he says, voice plain of emotion itself. I gape at him. My fucking _emotions_?

"Well, that's a bit stupid," I say, voice high with hysteria, "How silly of me to be fucking – to be – because my friends- my," I falter at what to call Sirius and choke over words, "_he_ went and _betrayed_ us." I take a breath, but Dumbledore cuts across me.

"Voldemort is gone," he says softly. "I know you want revenge, but right now we mustn't concentrate on that."

"What must me concentrate on, then?" I say angrily, hating him.

"You're angry because you don't know what to do." I glare at him. We sit in silence for a while and I try to push away the facts that he just told me, to block out everything that I'm feeling except for the fact that I want to kill Sirius.

"Voldemort is gone?" I prompt, instead of firing hate towards him.

"I do not believe he is dead. He simply is out there, too weak to do anything. The curse which he used to attempt to kill Harry backfired on himself and he lost his powers." I take this in, shock crossing my features.

"Harry survived-?" 

"Yes."

"Jesus," I mutter. Dumbledore puts his hat back on, turns towards the door. I realise he's leaving, to give me privacy, and I'm grateful. My emotions keep changing, rapidly, from anger to sadness and everything in between.

"I understand how you feel, Remus," he says, looking at me one last time, "but you mustn't act on those feelings. I understand your position, what Sirius has done, but nothing you do can undo the past. For now you just need to grieve for your losses. There will be anger, of course there will, but I trust you not to act on it." I stare at him. He turns again, leaves my flat and closes the door.

Now that he's gone, I don't cry or shake like I did before. I just sit there, staring at the door where Dumbledore was a second ago. Then, suddenly, my mental state rushes to meet my physical state, and I feel so, so tired.


End file.
